


Short Term Insurance

by CelticGHardy



Series: Family Path of Blood [5]
Category: The Following
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, Gen, Pre-Series, Tyson's also here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticGHardy/pseuds/CelticGHardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A case Tyson and Ryan were working on in '98 comes back to bite them back, as the perps need insurance to get out of the US.</p><p>And kidnap Mike for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short Term Insurance

**Author's Note:**

> trop bingo - character in distress
> 
> I suck at titles.

_June 2000_

The streets were quiet for a summer night. It was also eleven, as Mike Weston realized by checking his watch. _Shit, Dad's gonna ground me until the end of vacation._ He debated on staying to the lit areas or taking some of the dirt back ways to shortcut a few blocks. _I could try a few of them. If Mister Placks hasn't let his dog out for the night, then I can get past most of the houses without any alerts._

He heard a car going slowly and turned to see someone just stop a couple of houses behind him. Mildly paranoid, he decided to take the shortcut next to him. He ran quickly and watched out for security lights and dogs, slowing down and quietly moving by before picking up the pace. He took two more shortcuts before getting to the house he stayed at with his Dad. There was a car in the driveway and he sighed as he walked up to the front door. _He beat me home._ It wasn't locked, so he pushed open the door. He waited for the enviable lecture when nothing came his way. That was a little weird. He usually stayed up if he wasn't home and didn't come back by curfew. “Dad?” he called out, noticing all the lights remained off. He walked into the living room.

The hand on his mouth stopped him from screaming out when an arm wrapped around his chest. His arms were pinned, but he still tried throwing an elbow back. He was dragged backwards and he kicked out, trying to knock him off balance. It didn't work, and he just kept being hauled outside to the car he mistook for his Dad's. He tried making noise loud enough to get his neighbor's attention, but nothing worked. The trunk popped open and he was dumped in.

“Help!” he yelled, the trunk door being shut before he got most of it out. He started pounding on the roof. “Let me out! Somebody? Help!” The car moved and he rolled to the edge before moving back when it sped off. “No, no no no nononono.” He let out one harsh sob before wiping his eyes. He kept hitting the trunk, hoping that someone would take notice.

-

Ryan was just getting home by midnight. Tyson had left a half hour before him, calling him crazy for keeping the both of them going over the same facts, the older facts. _Mike should be asleep by now. If he's still awake, I'm dragging his ass to bed._ He pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, staring up at the house.

The front door was open.

Adrenaline starting to pump, he pulled out his gun and moved quickly up and into the house. He checked everywhere on the first floor, finding no signs of a struggle or a note before moving up. His room was completely clean. Mike's was the one with a note on the pillow. 48 hours, then you'll get your son back. He kept himself from crumpling it before getting to a phone.

Tyson glared at his when it started ringing. _That had better not be Ryan._ “Hello?” he grumbled.

“Someone kidnapped Mike,” he declared.

 _Shit._ He groaned, “I'll be over in ten minutes.” He hung up and reached back for his jeans.

Ryan hit the disconnect button before dialing someone else. “Who's this?” Debra slurred.

“It's Ryan,” he answered, “Someone's kidnapped Mike.”

“What?” He heard rustling over the receiver. “What the hell happened?”

“I... I don't know yet. I just came home and found a note on Mike's bed.”

“Fuck,” she hissed. “I'm coming over. You already called Tyson?”

“Yeah.”

“Think who the hell this could be.” She hung up and he placed the receiver back down.

Tyson let himself in while Ryan stared at the note. “What happened?” he questioned, stealing a glass and his alcohol.

“I came home. The door was open. Checked through the house until I found the note.” He took a look at it before sitting down in a chair beside him.

“Could it be someone we dealt with before, out on parole?”

“Makes no sense. Why would they just need Mike for forty-eight hours?”

“It's a deadline of sorts,” Tyson mentioned, “They just need to keep us off their trail for that amount of time. Something happens around...” He quickly calculated, “Ten to Midnight on Thursday.”

“Ten to midnight,” he repeated. “What then?”

“They'll be gone,” someone barged in. Both turned around to see Debra standing at the entrance of the living room. “Probably on a plane to a country where we can't follow them. That's why they need the time. To distract so you can't catch them.” The atmosphere became tension-filled. Tyson excused himself from the room and hid in the kitchen so she could yell at him. _Thanks._ “What the hell is going on?”

“I don't know. I came home; front door was open. The only thing I found was the note.”

“What cases are you working on?” she inquired.

“Home invasions and robberies. Repeats from ninety-eight, we think it's the same ones. They killed someone in the last house. A man that decided to try and fight back.”

“Oh god,” she whispered, collapsing on the couch. “How the hell did these people find out? What the hell are they going to do to him?”

“Nothing. They will do nothing,” he asserted.

“How do you know that? You know the rates of getting kidnap victims back. The things they do to the victim....”

“Hey,” he stopped, catching her hands. They had been flailing in the air. He rubbed the backs slowly, thumbs carefully going over knuckles. It calmed her, the motion creating small waves up her arms. “I'll get him back.”

“This wasn't even suppose to happen,” she mumbled, “No one was suppose to know.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, “One of them must have been watching me and Tyson, hoping to get one of us.” He sighed, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” she insisted, “Get him back.”

-

Mike stopped banging around fifteen minutes into the ride. He was still too panicked to think about the things his parents taught him about what he can do within a trunk. At least the area wasn't airtight, but there was an air flow problem. His antics hadn't help, and he had to stop in order to get his breath back.

_“Why am I in the trunk of the car?” Mike asked his Mom, who was standing over him._

_“Because your father keeps forgetting to teach you this while you're with him,” she groused, “Now, peel back the carpeting by the light.”_

_“Isn't that going to ruin it?”_

_“It'll be fine.” He followed her instruction and forced it off, revealing metal. “That's what houses the lights for the tail light. Move that and you'll be able to get to the plastic cover. Don't do it now, but if you're ever in this situation, knock that out. An officer will pull the person over if they're missing a taillight. If you start yelling or waving your arm out the hole, they'll arrest them before getting you out.”_

_“What if they shoot the officer?”_

_“Then we'll know what to look for.”_

He found the edge of the carpet and pulled as much as he could before removing the light and beating out the taillight. When it fell out, a blast of cold air rushed into his face and he breathed deeply. A quick glance showed a pair of headlights in the distance. _Too far away._ A small amount of helplessness came back up. _I can see something. I can watch out for cops or anyone else. They can alert someone else and Mom and Dad will come and get me._ It calmed him down. It gave him something to do. Every time he saw a car or went by a building, he started waving out. He couldn't tell if someone noticed. Nobody stopped the car.

They left the main road and hit gravel, which started kicking up stones into the trunk. His arms covered his head for the rest of the trip. He only noticed the car stopping when rocks stopped hitting him. The surprisingly still functional light went out. There were footsteps and the hood opened to three men wearing masks.

Two grabbed him and he kicked out. The third grabbed his legs efficiently and dragged him out onto the ground. “Get up or we'll drag you in,” one ordered. Mike tried steadying himself before rose to his feet, still shaky. His arm was seized and he was pulled forward.

The house looked like it belonged to someone else, and he got proof seeing an older couple in a few of the pictures. He passed by the living room and grew horrified at the large bloodstains over the rug. “Keep moving,” another growled, pushing and making him stumble. The stairs were taken two at a time to keep up.

The only person left when they arrived at their destination was the silent one. He lifted Mike onto the bed in must have been a guest room. There was a leg cuff hooked somewhere to the frame and the other part went around his left ankle. He then turned to leave. “Hey,” he hesitated, “What if I need to use the bathroom?”

“Call,” he said, walking out and locking the door behind him.

He looked down at the cuff and chain. The hole that a key would have been put in wasn't at the top, likely on purpose so he couldn't pick it as easy. He couldn't see the other part from his place on the bed, and he probably wouldn't be able to unless he had more light. The only source at the moment was a small desk lamp. The switch for the overhead was too far away, he thought, to be reached.

Fear crept quickly. _They wore masks. That's good; Dad said that's good. It means they're not planning on keeping me; they're planning on giving me back. Unless it was just super cautious and they don't want to take the chance about me being able to tell anything about them. What if one of them makes a mistake? Comes in without their mask on or starts calling names. Are they going to let me live? Or are they going to kill me like the couple that used to live here?_

His breath shortened with the thoughts that poured in. “Stop,” he whispered, “Stop, stop it.” His eyes started gathering tears and he wiped them before they started coming out. He folded his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around, using them as a headrest. “They're going to find me. Mom and Dad are going to find me. I'm not dying.” His breath shuddered. _And I am not crying. I can't freak out._

-

Nobody questioned Debra coming in with Ryan and Tyson, which was a spur of luck. They had been heading to their desks when the agent in charge, Nelson White, called the three of them into his office. “I got a call,” he explained, shutting his door, “About half an hour after I got in. A guy claimed to have kidnapped Ryan Hardy's son and he wished to inform us.”

“Sir,” he tried stopping.

“But that can't be right, can it Hardy? Because you would have had to list all family members on paperwork when you came in. And you would have had to update us if you had a child later on,” he accused. “And you didn't list a son, or the mother.” He took in Debra's presence near them, and the badge on her belt. “Agent...”

“Debra Parker,” she introduced.

“Well, Agent, why are you here?” She glanced down at the floor, unknowing how to answer the question. He grew suspicious, asking, “Is she the mother?”

“Yeah,” he revealed.

“Damn it,” he cursed. “Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? This has to be investigated, Hardy. I can't let it slide by.”

“We have a deadline,” Tyson mentioned, “They're fleeing.”

“You can't take us off,” Ryan pleaded, “Otherwise we won't have a chance to get these guys.”

“You're emotionally involved,” he reminded, “And it concerns a family member. You can't investigate. Neither of you can, and I'm more than tempted to bench Hernandez as well.” Interrupted, they all turned toward the door as a mail carrier knocked and handed Ryan an envelope with only his name on it. White held out his hand before he could even take a closer look. 

Grabbing gloves, he carefully opened and checked it before getting out a Polaroid. Both Ryan and Debra saw the writing on the back of it and noted it. “Proof of life?” Ryan inquired.

“Yes,” he answered, “It has to be processed.” He placed it back before walking out the door with it. They watched the man pulled two other agents and started talking to them while heading out of the office.

“He'll probably send us away,” she theorized.

“Set us on paperwork so we can't do anything else,” Tyson added.

“Have people follow us,” Ryan mentioned. Then he turned to Debra. “You caught the writing?”

“They'll call you tomorrow morning,” she remembered.

“So let's get our paperwork,” he figured, “If we figure out who they are and how to get to them, it's all legitimate. He can't fault us for doing our work.”

“I'll need to go down and inform my boss that I have to take a couple of personal days,” Debra stated, earning nods from the two men. She walked out of the bullpen while they gathered notes from the case they were sure was connected. They rushed out of the building before White could stop them.

At home, Tyson and Ryan started spreading out the notes, taking care to place cases together and have the latest invasions at the top. Debra walked in on an argument involving the time line of a certain case. She slammed down her bags to get their attention. “We've already got someone watching,” she informed.

Tyson got up to see who their boss had sent. “Damn, Grating and Vector,” he swore, “We're not going to be able to make many moves around them.”

“Not unless the three of us split up,” Ryan mentioned, “They don't have a third. They'll probably follow me and Debra.”

“Let's figure out where these guys are and lead the other agents to their hiding space,” she directed, “Then we'll have backup to arrest them and get Mike back. What case is it? Tell me everything.”

-

His panicking had led Mike to fall asleep. He woke up with the lock disengaging on the outside. He forced himself up while two of the men walked in. “Picture time,” one told him. He was handed a newspaper and fixed it so he would be holding it right. Then his picture was taken, the Polaroid coming out. He carefully handled it. “You can keep the newspaper, and here's breakfast.” A fast food bag was thrown at him.

He glanced in the bag and pulled out the hash brown, partially cold. He ate that before trying to devour one of the sandwiches. He got about halfway through before the dryness and over-salted bread and cheese. He asked, hesitant, “Could I get a drink?”

The guys looked at each other before one came forward and undid the leg cuff. “Use the time to also go to the bathroom,” the other guy told him. He was led down to a small, quaint bathroom that he locked when he was let go. He check the window and figured it to be too high up and too small to climb through.

After actually using the toilet and washing his hands, he searched for a cup that he could use to drink from instead of cupping his hands together. The medicine cabinet held ointments and prescribed medication. He found a couple of stud earrings sitting in liquid. He checked it carefully to make sure it wasn't corrosive before pulling them out and stuffing them in a pocket. With no cup, he drank down a couple of mouthfuls of water before it was decided he was taking too long.

He walked back out and was forced back to the bedroom before being cuffed to the bed again. The two of them left Mike with the remaining food. He stared at the sandwich. _I really don't want to eat this. But it's probably the last thing for a few hours._ He choked down the last remaining food before throwing the bag and wrappers away.

Mike carefully pulled the studs back out of his pocket. They weren't special, just basic sliver balls with a long pole to insert in the ear. He bent his leg up so he could get to the key opening. He kept moving it around without any luck. “Why do people make this sound so easy?” he complained. He hit something inside the mechanism and the hinge started to slide a little ways out. He clamped his mouth shut before he started cheering at his success. He replicated it again and managed to get it all the way off.

Excited at his release, he had to force himself to be quiet while he creep over to the window. He winced at the seemingly loud sound of the latch, but didn't hear footsteps pounding up. He got the glass up and set himself to getting the screen out.

Three of the holdings were removed when he was pulled back from the window. “No! Let me go!” he shouted, trying to pull the arms away from his chest.

“Told ya he was planning something,” the guy holding him crowed, throwing him back on the bed and holding him in place. “Ya got them?”

“Let me go! Just let me go,” he pleaded, trying to fight the guy off, “Please!” They ignored him for taking off the leg cuff and replacing it with a length of chain, which they wrapped several times around his legs before taking the end and latching it to the frame, locking it in place with a large padlock. Satisfied that it was set, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and handed them over. “No!” He fought, but his arms were forced up and handcuffed to the headboard. He started pulling at them, trying to release his hands. 

“You had a chance,” the other guy told him, searching his pockets and finding the earrings. The two walked out, closing the door but not locking it.

He kept pulling at the handcuffs, but stopped when he started bruising his wrists and little cuts started opening. “No,” he moaned. He collapsed and started crying. Awkwardly, he rubbed the starting tears on his arms. _I wanna go home. I want Mom and Dad. I wanna go home._

-

They had passed into night before anyone realized it. Everything connected to the home invasions and the one death was scattered around. Debra's fresh eyes allowed them to connect several of the cases together. They discovered the homes had restorations done by professionals on their houses. That had to been when the perps cased their victims. Since many of them also had schedules posted around, they were able to plan when the house would be empty if they could get it. Many times they couldn't, but instead of dealing with children, they would usually just deal with house wives that were bound and left in a closet before the house was ransacked.

Tyson led the phone calls to the company that was hired. Apparently, they had three individuals leave recently. Names and recent work written down, Ryan called a couple of connections to find out if they had any records. Debra ran through the recent houses renovated to see if she could figure out a target.

Ryan handed the phone to her when he was done talking to his connections so she could check houses one by one. Tyson offered to go out and bring back fast food for the three of them after the clock rang ten pm. Debra stopped after a call, trying not to break down. “This is taking too long,” she whispered.

He carefully moved over and wrapped one of his arms around her, unsure how she would react. She buried her head in his shoulder, and wrapped the second one around her. They stayed together until she started pulling back. “I think Mike should live with you,” he said.

“What?”

“Your role in the FBI is more research and advisory. The perps don't see you. He'll be safer with you.”

She questioned, “Is this just reactionary?”

“Not, not completely,” he motioned, “There have been more threats in the last few years. They were the first ones to learn about Mike, but they won't be the last. If he's not here, they won't find out about him as easily. I'll hide the photos, of him, of you, us. I would hide everyone's except Tyson's, but Jenny and Ray wouldn't have it if they found out about my plan.”

“What about visiting him? Calling him? You can't entirely hide him.”

“I can try!” he declared. “I don't want him in danger.”

“Neither do I, but this won't work,” she argued, “They'll follow you visiting him, find a way to tap your phone and hear a phone call. What are you going to do, completely cut off contact? You'll still have the photos. They find them and find us then.” He buried his head, indicating she got part of it right. “No, no you will not do that. That would break his heart.”

“What do I do?” he asked. “I don't want him in danger.”

“We'll figure out a way, but don't cut him out.” Tyson decided it was the right time to intervene, announcing his arrival and dropping two bags down on the table in front of them. The two separated and pulled out sandwiches before starting to eat in silence.

Debra went back to her list, watching it shorten down more and more to two names. It was too late to call either one and knock them off or confirm. She placed them aside. Tyson had already claimed the couch after the two vacated it. Too tired to get back to her apartment, she followed Ryan up. She stopped at Mike's room, looking in. She barely reacted to Ryan staring behind her. “Tomorrow,” he muttered, “We get him back tomorrow. Either we find him or they'll tell us. But we are getting him back alive.”

-

Mike was awake when they came back in the room, sleeping on and off. Nobody had visited after his escape attempt. He hadn't bothered calling out for a trip to the bathroom, figuring they wouldn't come up. They undid the cuffs first, which allowed him to inspect his wrists and winced when touched a very sore spot. He didn't really pay attention to them uncuffing his legs, but gasped when he was pulled to his feet and forced down to the bathroom. They didn't allow him any privacy, instead standing at the door while he went to the bathroom. His attempt to get something for his wrists had him forcibly stopped and dragged back to the bedroom.

Rechained to the bed, he was surprised when they didn't do his hands. Instead, one of them brought forth a phone with something on it. “This,” one of the guys pointed out the unusual item, “Stops anybody from tracing a call. So your Dad and the FBI can't find us. You're going to call him. Reassure him you're fine. Don't try to tell him where you are.” He handed over the receiver to Mike.

Ryan was down in the kitchen, cooking up the last of his eggs. He made a note to go shopping at some point to get basics when his phone started ringing. He thought it would be White. “Yeah,” he answered.

“Dad?”

He wasn't suspecting that. “Mike?” he breathed, waving Debra over from her coffee. She jumped up and he arranged it so they could both hear.

“I don't know what's going on,” he whined, “I haven't heard them talking about anything. What do they want, Dad?”

“They don't want anything, Mike,” Debra mentioned.

“Mom?”

“It's just to throw me off the case,” he told him, “They're going to escape the country at some point today.”

“So I get to come home soon?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Okay.” He wasn't able to say anything else as the phone was taken away from him and the call ended. Mike hoped that he wouldn't be cuffed, but he still was, wrists pulled behind him and bound back together. _At least they didn't handcuff me to the bed again._ He pulled miserably at his wrists, wincing at the pressure on the bruising and the cuts. _Can we make soon now?_

Ryan put his receiver back. “He's okay,” he consoled, more to himself than Debra.

“He sounded scared,” she whispered.

“He wasn't crying,” he pointed out. “That's good.” He held out his arm and she gladly took the offer to hug him. They stood together for a minute. “We're going to find him. Let's eat and finish the last two numbers you listed.” She nodded and pulled away before going back to her coffee.

After breakfast, they called the first of the two numbers. The woman that answered wasn't happy at the early call, but understood when Debra pulled out the FBI card. Hanging up, she declared, “The last one's it. Has to be.”

He nodded, agreeing. “Let's find out where it is.”

The knocking at the door stopped them from being able to start on the information. Supervisor White was standing outside. “You had to have figured we would have had the lines tapped,” he stated, walking inside.

“And?” Ryan accused.

“We couldn't trace it,” he informed, “They're smart.”

“They've gotten away with more than ten home invasions,” he reminded, “They would have to be smart.” Ignoring that Ryan just called him an idiot, he pulled out information. “I thought Jake told me everything.”

“He told you what he had without a warrant. After the connections to the case, we were able to rush a few to get their complete backgrounds.” He nodded to Debra, who had come out of the kitchen. “What's your plan, Hardy?”

The two of them looked at each other. “Tyson's taking a shower; we'll explain it then,” Debra led. White accepted the offer of coffee. After everyone was settled, their latest find was brought out. “I've ruled out all the other houses; this is the last one that they worked at.”

“How did you check the others?”

“Called them last night and this morning,” she mentioned.

“It's unlikely they would keep the family alive if they were using it as a hideout,” Ryan pointed out.

He nodded and wrote down the information. “Officially, you're not allowed on the case,” he reminded, “But Grating, Vector and Taylor are going to be briefed for about two hours before we can get to the site to apprehend the suspects. I should go to start that. Thanks for the coffee.” He gathered their notes and walked out with them.

They wondered what happened for a minute before Tyson thought of it. “He's giving us a chance to get Mike,” he voiced. The group rushed out, speeding a little to get to the house. It took them about thirty minutes to get within range. Unable to get closer, the house was situated in the country, with not a lot of cover. “How do we approach this?”

“I'll distract them,” Debra thought up, “They were following you and Ryan; they won't know who I am.”

“I run inside, find Mike and get him out,” Ryan stole, before turning to Tyson, “Stay with Debra, any sign of trouble, get her out.”

He nodded, “Got it. The road continues out for a while. You're going to have to run if they see you.”

“Hopefully, I won't be seen.” He got out of the car and kept himself down before running up to the house while Debra came up the drive.

Two men walked out of the house before she was even out of the car. “Hi, is Vance and Betty Tracy here?” she called out. Ryan didn't pay attention as he found the backdoor and found it locked. He wondered if there was a hidden key around somewhere when he saw a window opened to let the breeze in. He managed to somehow lift himself in and not make any loud noises. _Need to work out more._ The door to the basement was located in the kitchen he had just entered, and he smelt the badly covered up smell of decomposition. _Oh, god, I hope they didn't keep him down there._

He found the third one upstairs in a guest room. Mike was on the bed, chained to it with his wrists behind him. The guy had his hand over his mouth to keep him from calling out for help. _I should have brought something to knock him out with._ Knowing he would only have one shot, to make sure he wouldn't wake back up, he knocked on the door to bring the man out.

Hearing the threat the man hissed to his son just made him angry. Backed up enough so that he wasn't in view, he readied himself to hit. The man looked over at him and he socked him in the jaw, hard enough to bend him over. While he was still dazed, Ryan hit him on the back of the neck. He still wasn't unconscious, but he was dazed enough so he wouldn't fight back. He grabbed a ring of keys that he saw and walked in.

Mike didn't expect the person that walked in. “Dad?” he mumbled. He just nodded and kissed the crown of his forehead before figuring out the key he needed and undoing the lock to the chains before getting them off and setting them on the floor. The handcuff key was easier and he had them off quickly. He hugged him and wouldn't let go. Ryan had to guide him back down to the ground floor. The front door was empty and Debra wasn't out front. He went slowly and looked around each door and entry before getting to the kitchen. 

“Find Mom's car,” Ryan instructed, “It's probably somewhere on the road to the right. Run, don't stop.” He nodded and the older man opened the door before checking for the other two men. He unwrapped his arms and pushed him ahead. “Go.” Mike took off and he watched for any signal the men knew before running after him.

Debra had pulled over a few feet away, hidden by a tiny few trees alongside the road. She didn't know if Ryan and Mike had gotten out. They had started getting angry and she couldn't afford to go up to the house and talk to them to keep their attention. She finally had to leave, but she didn't want to head far. Tyson was behind the wheel, ready to drive them off. She was outside the car, waiting for someone to show up.

Mike ended up on the road, looked around for the car and saw it. “Mom!” he yelled, running over to her.

Relieved, she breathed, “Mike.” She accepted his tackling and squeezed him tightly. Ryan slowed to a walk and continued moving closer. “Anything wrong? They didn't hurt you in any way, did they?”

He shook his head. “Hurt my wrists on handcuffs,” he muttered. She sighed. 

Ryan was over after a few minutes. “We should leave before they realize it and come after us,” he stated.

“Right, come on,” she muttered, moving Mike into the backseat before sitting next to him. Ryan took the front seat and Tyson took off. The gang hadn't noticed them, or they were busy preparing to leave early since their plan went to waste.

They only became relieved when they walked in the house. Debra didn't want to part with Mike yet. She took a look at his wrists before prodding him upstairs and into the bathroom. Tyson clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I need to go home. Sleep, shower,” he insisted.

“Right,” he nodded, “Tyson, thank you.”

“Hey, what am I for?” he shrugged off. “Now, I leave.”

“You in tomorrow?”

“You will see tomorrow,” he waved, walking out. Ryan relocked the door before standing around. He looked up, hearing the shower running and thought about making something for Mike when he came back down.

He had a pot of water going and chicken in the oven when Mike came down in pjs. The white gauze on his wrists were startling. “Whadya making?” he mumbled.

“Baked chicken with mac and cheese.”

That made him happy. “My favorite?”

“Your favorite.” The glomp of a hug had Ryan smiling. “You're welcome.”

He sighed, “Thanks, Dad.”


End file.
